


Yoga Phil

by lemonypond



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonypond/pseuds/lemonypond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson's attempt at yoga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yoga Phil

“Phil you need to relax. You’re doing it again,” May said, arms crossed, leaning against the desk. 

“I’m fine,” he responded after a beat, the paperclip in his worn fingers resembled a three dimensional star. 

“Are you? Because it seems to me these…episodes…keep eating away at you.” 

“I’m…,” he sighed resignedly. “What do you think I should do?” 

“Join me for yoga this afternoon,” May suggested. 

Coulson’s nostrils flared. He still did not want anyone to know what was going on in his mind. The less that Skye knew, the safer she would be. Sensing the protest, May continued. “Just…,” she held up her hand, “you and me, here in your office. We can do it after I train Skye this afternoon.” She paused, taking in his uneasy posture.  “No one knows, Phil. Let me help.” Her tone remained even. 

“If you think it will help. I'll see you at three?”

* * *

Later that day after training with Skye, Melinda came back to find Phil sitting at his desk staring at the black cube left to him from Fury. She carried with her two yoga mats and two cork blocks. Coulson was still in his suit. 

“Did you forget?” Melinda asked, her eyebrow cocked. 

“Hmm?” Coulson had not noticed her walk in; his mind was a million miles away. It might have been light years away. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was carving into the walls. 

“Go change; I’ll wait.” 

“Right. I’ll be…yeah. Just give me a minute.” Phil left the room, and a moment later he returned in tee shirt and gym shorts. 

“Alright, that’s better. Phil when was the last time you trained?” Melinda’s lips curled up into a smile. She didn’t get to see him much anymore; he was gone so much. She was going to take this opportunity to have some fun. 

Phil went on the defensive without realizing it. His arms crossed and he leaned into a slight crouch; his jaw clenched. 

“I haven’t seen you work out since we landed at the Playground.” 

“I’m Director now, I’m not out in the field.” Coulson shifted his weight and looked out the window. 

“Then explain the stiches from last week.” May nodded towards the gash on his forehead. 

“We have very sharp doors here.” 

“What about the contusions on your ribs?” She leaned against the desk, still maintaining eye contact.

“I walked into the lab when Fitz was frustrated.” He raised his eyebrows as high as he could. 

“You’re going to blame Fitz, really?” 

“Too far?” 

“A bit.” 

“Fine…point taken.” 

Melinda smiled, then unrolled the two yoga mats onto the floor, and motioned for Phil to join her. 

“We’ll start seated, eyes closed, with some deep breathing.” 

Phil sat on his mat, ankles crossed, fidgeting as he tried to settle in. In front of him sat one of his oldest friends and confidants, a woman he had trusted with his life on countless occasions. If she thought this would help him he would try it. 

“Close your eyes, Phil, it will help you focus. Breathe in and out your nose to a count of five.” 

He did as she said, breathing in and out. 

“This is really nice. I’m glad we’re doing this, May.” 

“Phil…” Melinda said calmly. 

“Sorry, quiet, got it.” 

“Breathe in and out three more times, then we’ll start in downward facing dog,” Melinda continued. 

Phil moved into the position, head down and rear end reaching into the air, as he did so his knees creaked like his grandmother’s rocking chair. 

“How do you think Mac is fitting in with the others?” Phil asked, the blood rushing to his head. 

“Not now, Phil.” 

“Right.” 

“Raise your right leg into the air, reaching for the back of the room.” 

He wobbled a little as his balanced shifted. He wondered when he got so old. 

“Good,” Melinda encouraged him. “Now bring your leg forward between your arms into a long lunge.” 

He tried, but his foot got stuck, and he had to drag it forward with his hand. It scraped off a patch of toe hair in the process.  That was not calming, he thought. 

“That’s okay Phil, it doesn’t matter if you can’t get there in one movement. Now bring your torso up to standing on your next inhale. Arms up in the air, like you’re hugging a beach ball.” 

Phil breathed in, and slowly raised himself up to standing, wobbling the whole way. His ankles popped and his quads ached and twitched. 

“Spread your feet out further so that you can square your hips. It’ll help your balance.” Melinda walked behind him, securing his back leg between her thighs so that she could keep him steady as she tilted his hips forward with her hands. “Like this,” she said. 

Phil wobbled, but Melinda was so strong that he did not fall over. He did not like being this vulnerable, even in front of her. 

“I’ve got you, just breathe,” she said, now squaring his shoulders with her hands. His shoulders were still strong. She teased him, but he was still in excellent shape. She would still gladly have Phil on her side in a fight. 

Phil turned his head to the side and smirked, stifling a laugh, like a little boy. “Buy me a drink first, Melinda.” 

“Phil…” Melinda rolled her eyes. 

“Right. Sorry. I’m breathing.” 

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously…” she took one hand and turned his head back towards the front of the room. 

“Calm your mind Phil, focus on the sound of your breathing,” she said, releasing his thigh from her grip. 

Phil closed his eyes, he wobbled only slightly before attempting to focus inward on his breath. He could hear the ticking of a clock, the whir of the computer on his desk, the sound of Melinda May’s footsteps  on the stone floor. 

“How was Skye at the firing range today?" he asked, his eyes still closed. 

“PHIL.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Downward facing dog, Phil,” the only indication that Melinda was getting frustrated was the barely audible sigh before she spoke. 

Phil got down on his hands and feet. The blood was rushing to his head, causing the vein in his temple to throb. 

“Heels up, bend your knees. Breathe.” 

He did as he was told. His knees creaked as he raised his heels. 

"I’m taking another trip to see Simmons tomorrow, what should I make her for dinner?” he asked. 

Melinda May swept her leg first under Phil’s arms, then under his ankles, knocking him face first into his mat. It happened in the span of about two seconds. 

“You aren’t taking this seriously. I’m trying to help you.” 

“...OW,” Phil said, pushing himself up, checking to see if his nose was bleeding. It wasn't. 

“I’ve got a quinoa salad you can take her. Grill something.” Melinda said, rolling up her mat. 

“Melinda?” he asked, sitting on the ground, staring at his toes. 

“Yes Phil?” 

“Thanks for trying to help.” He looked like a small boy who had just been admonished by his mother. 

“You are terrible.” 

“I know,” Phil answered, picking at the lint on the floor. 

“You might be better off with a dvd.” 

“Thanks,” he said, finally looking at her. 

“Trip and I will be in the weight room after dinner. Join us,” she smiled. 

“Maybe,” he smiled back. 

Melinda left the room, leaving Phil to his thoughts. 

“I'm flexible,” he said to himself, full of confidence, stretching his foot in his hand, leaning forward. He quickly fell over on his side.

"Maybe not that flexible..."


End file.
